


when love knocks at your door (it never comes empty-handed)

by yu_gin



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, First Meetings, Food, M/M, Meet-Cute, a lot of food actually way too much food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28156398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yu_gin/pseuds/yu_gin
Summary: Italian night is not his lucky night.Joe is staring at the ceiling, trying to hold the tears and find some composure. And failing miserably one minute after, as he bursts out crying again for the fifth time.“I can’t believe I worked so much for the birthday party of a klootzak” he yells at the ceiling and when nobody answers he just sinks his face on the pillow.~ * ~ * ~Joe gets dumped a few hours before the huge party he has been organizing for weeks.But while he's busy crying, love knocks at his door. And he's not empty-handed.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, previous Joe/OMC
Comments: 28
Kudos: 252





	when love knocks at your door (it never comes empty-handed)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the server family for the support.  
> Also, thanks to Soa who suggested as a title "Giovedì Gnocchi". I will keep it in my heart as non-official title.

**When love knocks at your door (it never comes empty-handed)**

Italian night is not his lucky night.

Joe is staring at the ceiling, trying to hold the tears and find some composure. And failing miserably one minute after, as he bursts out crying again for the fifth time.

“I can’t believe I worked so much for the birthday party of a _klootzak_ ” he yells at the ceiling and when nobody answers he just sinks his face on the pillow.

Organizing Erik birthday party has been a sort of tradition. The first time he did it, they had been dating for five months. He asked his mom for help and cooked most of the food and ordered the rest at the Tunisian restaurant close to their home. Erik had said that he liked Tunisian cuisine so many times and Joe thought it would be a nice occasion to share his culture with his friends. He still remembers the after-party, when everyone left, and he and Erik remained alone. Erik hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and said: “This summer, we could go to Tunis” and Joe felt that he could be the man he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

The year after, he changed the theme for the party and chose French cuisine and that summer they ended up in Paris. He still remembers the hours spent at the Musée d’Orsay, the afternoons in the cafés sketching the passersby walking by the Seine, their kiss at the top of the Tour Eiffel. The nights in their hotel at Montmartre. His body sinking in the mattress while Erik murmured in his ear sweet words- No, he must not think about it.

On the third year, Erik suggested something different for the party. Joe didn’t think he would appreciate so much the coasts of the Baltic countries, or their cuisine, but he was happy to be proven wrong.

On their fourth year, they had opted for something more conventional. Erik knew well Joe’s passion for art when he suggested going to Florence and Rome for the holidays. Joe was thrilling at the idea of visiting the Uffizi and eating delicious gelato for ten days and had happily agreed on the theme.

He organized everything in detail: the red checked tablecloth, the Spotify playlist of Italian classics, the numerous bottles of Chianti and Prosecco, as well as a large jar of Aperol Spritz. Heck, he even personalized the paper cup of every guest with a small sketch of a famous Renaissance painting or sculpture.

“I can’t believe I chose Michelangelo’s _David_ for that flat-ass bitch” he snorts.

Yes, everything was ready for the party. Except that at two in the afternoon, right after lunch, Erik had said the infamous words: “we need to talk” and basically dumped him only six hours before the party he had spent weeks preparing. And he had to cancel the party and he now has at least fifty unread, unanswered messages from their common friends, waiting for an explanation.

So, no, Italian night is not his lucky night. By any means.

As he hears the bell ringing, he literally jumps from the couch and runs to the door.

 _This must be Erik,_ he thinks. He hesitates a second before opening the door, hoping in… hoping in what? An apology? A redemption? A clumsy attempt to adjust things?

He knew Erik couldn’t really mean it. He knew he would come back, eventually. And he is ready to forgive him because he is like this, and Erik means everything for him and-

When he opens the door, he doesn’t face Erik. He expected to find his one-meter-and-ninety tall blond boyfriend. But in front of him there is a guy slightly shorter than him, brown hair, wet and tousled, dressed in a black hoodie, a pair of jeans, and a big green-white-red bag that looks very heavy.

The guy raises his gaze from his shoes and looks at Joe. For a moment, Joe is mesmerized by his striking blue eyes and he stares at him silently, waiting for him to talk.

“Mh, Mr. al-Kaysani?”

“That would be me.”

“I’m from the Di Genova bakery. Here is your order” he says, in a heavily-accented Dutch.

Joe stares at him, then at his bag, then at him again and–

_Shit! I forgot about the order._

He ordered food for twenty people for the party he had to cancel only five hours before and completely forgot to call the shop to cancel the order as well. Even though, with five hours of notice, he probably would have had to pay for the order anyway.

He sees himself in the near future, staring at all this food, resting in the fridge and in the freezer for days, even weeks. And every time he eats some, he will remember of the party, of Erik breaking up with him, of the humiliation of having to text all of your friends and tell them that the love of your life dumped you with a six-hour notice when you spent weeks organizing the best birthday party ever.

The guy starts to shift the weight from one leg to the other, unease. “Mh, can I come in and drop the food? I have a second bag in the car.”

Joe bursts out crying for the sixth time.

Nicky stares at the clock hanged on the wall behind the counter. Ten minutes to seven. The shop is already empty, and they managed to sell most of the food.

He checks the order and whistles. The food on the list must be for at least fifteen if not twenty people.

 _Damn, this al-Kaysani must be throwing a huge party_.

He stores the food in two bags and struggles to lift them from the counter.

“That is the last order, right?” asks his sister, coming from the kitchen.

“Yes. I added some extra _supplì_ since the order was very generous. And anyway, I don’t think we will have more clients today, not with this rain outside.”

“Good idea, Nico. After the delivery, you can go directly home, I will close the shop.”

“See you at home,” he says, taking the two bags and placing them in the small Panda. He jumps in the car, not quickly enough to avoid being completely soaking wet by the time he sits on the seat. He still has to get used to the weather in Northern Europe.

He checks the address one last time: not even five minutes and then he should be able to go back home. He can’t wait to crumble on the couch and eat some leftovers, while watching some cheesy Dutch soaps with his sister. He just needs to deliver his last order and he will be done.

He easily parks in front of the house, stares at the building, and sighs. Intern 4B is probably on the fourth floor. For a moment, he considers taking both of the bags and then he remembers that time he dropped an entire casserole of lasagna and decides to take one bag at a time.

He is lucky enough to find the door of the building open and since it’s raining heavily, he simply walks in and takes the stairs to the fourth floor.

_4B, here it is. Let’s leave this food to Mr. al-Kaysani so he can enjoy his huge party. I already picture him, all fancy dressed, with the house decked for the occasion, waiting impatiently for his guests. Well, good for him. I just want to go home, take a shower and call it a day._

The door opens in front of him, but he doesn’t face a fancy dressed man. In front of him, there is a guy, roughly his own age, that looks like he has been crying for the whole afternoon. And that he is very close to crying again.

“Mh, Mr. al-Kaysani?” he asks, cautiously.

“That would be me,” he says, sniffing.

“I’m from the Di Genova bakery. Here is your order” he says. The man stares at him, without saying a word or making any moves. He has a pair of dark eyes that digs into his soul, and they look even cuter on him now that they are all puffy.

The heavy bag on his shoulder is making him uncomfortable, as he tries to shift the weight from a leg to the other. “Mh, can I come in and drop the food? I have another bag in the car.”

The guy in front of him starts to cry. Not like a single, aesthetic tear running down the cheek. Rather a noisy and messy ugly cry that leaves Nicky petrified. He stares at him, without knowing what to do. He carefully lets the bag on the floor.

_What am I supposed to do? Do I just… let the food and walk away?_

He very much wants to go home. He is tired: he woke up at six that morning and he has spent the day cooking, baking, dealing with rude clients, and delivering the orders under heavy rain.

But his eyes, oh, his dark big eyes, look so sad, so wounded, that Nicky cannot simply walk away. He comes closer and attempts a very awkward hug but, as soon as he closes his arms around the stranger, the man wraps his own arms around him and starts sobbing heavily on his shoulder.

He rubs a hand on his back, as he would do with a crying child, and waits for him to calm down.

“I’m sorry, I am very sorry, I just–” he murmurs, as he loosens his grips and attempts to find some composure, wiping the tears with the sleeve of his sweater.

“It’s okay,” says Nicky. “I am… sorry, for whatever happened.”

“Thank you. Please, come in” he says, showing him the way. Nicky takes the bag and walks in. The house is tidy and clean, and he can’t help but notice the big table in the middle of the living room and the numerous bottles of wine on it.

_A big party, indeed._

But then he sees the balloons on the ground and the torn “Happy Birthday” banner.

_Uh, trouble in paradise._

“Some of the food is still warm and maybe you won’t need to re-heat it, depending on when the party is supposed to start.”

“There will be no party,” says the other, still sniffing. “That dickhead dumped me. Do you understand? He dumped me after all I’ve done for his stupid birthday party! With a six-hour notice! What kind of man does something like this?”

Nicky’s brain registers the words “man”, and something pings in his head. _So, Mr. Big Puppy Eyes is gay. Gay and single, uh._ But then he shakes his head. _Keep it in your pants, di Genova._ “A very shitty one” he agrees.

“Thank you!” he yells. “A very shitty one, indeed. And now I wonder how long–“

The stranger starts rambling, presumably about the previously mentioned boyfriend – well, ex-boyfriend – but Nicky is only able to catch some words of his unstoppable Dutch venting.

“I– I’m sorry” he stutters. “My Dutch is still very bad.”

The stranger stops and switches to English: “I’m sorry. I was just insulting that dickhead of my boyfriend. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t– You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Then he adds: “I’m going to take the second bag, then I can explain to you how to store the food, so it won’t get wasted.”

“Sure,” he says, looking helplessly at the huge quantity of food that is now resting on the table, next to the bottles of wine.

“I’ll be back,” he says, and he disappears. When he comes back, a few minutes later, he finds the guy eating the eggplant parmigiana directly from the baking tin.

“Fuck, this is so good,” he says, pointing at the parmigiana. “Please, tell the cook that it’s fantastic.”

“Well, thank you, then” he replies, smiling.

The stranger widens his eyes: “Do you mean you did it?”

He nods, proudly: “Most of this food, yes. My sister and I just opened the shop and, at the moment, it’s only the two of us.”

“It must be a lot of work.”

“It is, but we are used to it. We have always worked in our parents’ shop, before moving and opening our own.”

“And why the Netherlands?”

Nicky shrugs: “We needed a new start. And my sister is weak for tall, blond guys,” he says, with a smirk.

The other guy laughs: “I mean, I bet you are not complaining about Dutch girls either.”

Nicky blushes and bites his lip. “Well, not exactly. Not girls, at least” he adds. _Nicky, for the love of God, what are you doing? Shut your mouth and go home._

There is a moment of silence before the other says: “Well, don’t fall for Dutch men. They are dicks”

“Noted,” says Nicky, with a smile. At that moment, his phone starts ringing, and he takes the call.

“Nico, are you done?” asks his sister.

“I’m- Something happened,” he says, switching automatically to Italian.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay, don’t worry! I’m at the client’s place and he is very not okay. His party got canceled last minute and he’s pretty miserable. I think- I think he needs some help storing all the food. He is a good client, I want to be nice.”

“Yeah, a good client, sure,” says his sister, in a snarky tone. “How pretty is he?”

“Michi, it’s not what-”

“Nico…”

He sighs. “Okay, he’s fucking gorgeous. But that’s not the point. The point is-”

“Is he gay?”

“Michi-”

“Answer the question.”

“He is.”

He can almost _hear_ her smug smile. “Well, then don’t even bother coming home. Have fun!”

“Michi, it’s not like this. Nothing will happen tonight, I will only help him storing-”

But his sister is not listening anymore, chanting: “My baby brother is gonna get l-”

He closes the call before she can even complete the sentence. Who does she think he is? He just wants to help a stranger that complimented his cuisine and that maybe will become a usual client. It’s good for the business. It’s only business.

He turns to the stranger and, as he meets his gaze, he can feel his knees trembling and he thinks: _Oh, well…_

The delivery guy is hot. Joe can’t say exactly when he acknowledged it. Maybe when he first noticed his blue eyes, or how cute he looked all soaking wet, like a kitten left in the rain.

Or when he hugged him, and he was smelling like flour and fresh bread and Joe instinctively tightened his grip.

Or when he subtly implied that he was gay and then blushed.

Or when he called him… how was it? “Fucking gorgeous”.

Joe wonders if he should let him know that he has been studying Italian for five months or just spare him the embarrassment and see how the evening will evolve.

“So, the _lasagna_ can go in the freezer. I would recommend to already preparing it in smaller portions because once it will be frozen you won’t be able to cut it. Then, you can simply defrost them in the oven. While for the meatball, you can use a pan, if you don’t want to use the oven. Now, for the supplì-”

“Wait, what is a _supplì_?” asks Joe. “I didn’t order it.”

“Oh, I just added some of them for free. Your order was very generous” says the guy.

“That is… incredibly sweet,” says Joe. The other guy blushes.

“It’s nothing, really. Anyway, I would recommend not to freeze and defrost the fried stuff. The best would be to eat them now but-”

“Well, I have to eat something.”

“I guess you do,” says the guy, whose name Joe still ignore. Seriously, he should ask. The more he waits the more embarrassing it will be.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Nicky,” he says.

“Well, Nicky, thank you for your help. And I’m sorry if you had to see me in such a miserable state. I wasn’t exactly at my best.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. al-Kaysani.”

Joe snorts: “Please, call me Joe. Don’t make me feel older than how I already feel.”

The delivery guy – well, Nicky - smiles: “Fine, Joe.”

There is an awkward moment of silence between them, then Joe clears his voice and says: “I’m sorry, I don’t want to steal your time anymore. Maybe you had plans for the night and I’m keeping you here, which is not fair.”

Nicky shrugs: “It’s fine. My only plan was to eat some leftovers from the shop and fall asleep on the couch watching _Goede Tijden, Slechte Tijden_. My typical night since I’ve moved here, three months ago.” Then he sighs and says: “Now I am being pathetic.”

“I’m not one to judge, not tonight at least,” he says.

Nicky starts picking up the empty bags, about to leave.

_Come on, Joe, make your move! Say something!_

“Hey, I was thinking-” As soon as he speaks, Nicky stops, as if he was waiting for him to say a word. “I mean, I have a lot of food. Way too much food. And also wine. And an Italian movie. If you don’t have any other plan for the night–”

_He’s going to think you are crazy. Or a sociopath. Or a serial killer. Or a sad horny man that wants to sleep with him._

“O-okay” he stutters. “I’d like that.”

“Brilliant,” he says, maybe with too much enthusiasm. He points at the food on the table: “Well, choose what you prefer, I’m sure everything will be delicious.”

And Joe could swear that the smile coming from Nicky’s face brightens the room.

If that morning someone asked Nicky how he thought his night would end, “having dinner with a beautiful man while drinking wine and flirting” wasn’t even on his bingo. But here he is, sipping Chianti while eating his own parmigiana – which, he proudly admits, is really delicious – and chatting with a gorgeous man.

“So, you were talking about the family shop.”

“I started working there as a kid, earned my first money, and learned how to cook. After high school, I wanted to do something on my own, because I was tired of depending on my parents. I worked as a waiter and then as a cook in a restaurant, but my dream was to open a shop that was only mine. So, when my sister asked me to join her in this adventure, I took the opportunity. And three months later here I am.” He takes another sip of Chianti, thinking that he should stop before the wine starts speaking for him.

“And how did you find the city?”

“I like living here. I’ve always lived in a small village and I thought that living in a big city would be exciting.”

“But?”

“But the shop just opened and at the moment it’s only me and my sister, so we have to work all day and during our day off we are both too tired to do anything. Plus, it’s difficult to make friends in a new city if you are not a student and you barely speak the language.”

“You must miss your friends.” It’s not even a question.

Nicky blushes and lowers his gaze, staring at his plate. “I- it’s not like I used to have many friends back in Italy. I used to have some friends in high school, but they all moved for University. I used to go out with my colleagues, when I was working in a restaurant, but they weren’t real friends. They were just people I was hanging out with.”

_For the love of God, Nicky, just stop showing him how miserable your life is. You sound like a Dickensian character._

“We could be friends,” says Joe. “I mean, if you want. I know your time schedule is probably very different from mine, but we could hang out, sometimes. And your sister too, if she wants to join. And my friends.”

“That would be lovely,” says Nicky, his heart suddenly warmed by the idea of spending the evenings with Joe, even just as a friend. Joe is obviously a very handsome man and Nicky wouldn’t complain about having something more than a friendship with him. But Joe seems like a wonderful person: kind, clever, well-mannered and also a funny guy, someone who could make him laugh with just a few words. Having him as a friend would already be a blessing. “But enough talking about my pathetic life. What about you?”

“I’ve always lived here. My parents moved from Tunisia when my sister was still a baby and I was born and raised here. After school, I took a Bachelor in art, and now I teach at high school.”

“Do you also make art or only teach?”

“I draw, mostly, sometimes I paint. I really love art. Which is why we were planning our trip to Italy, this summer. I was looking forward to spending my days in Rome and Florence. But at this point, I don’t know if I’d want to go alone.”

“I think you should go. It is clearly something that you had in your mind for so long and I think you deserve this holiday.”

“I don’t know, it was supposed to be a romantic holiday and now I’m afraid I will keep thinking about Erik. I could be eating the best gelato of Rome, watching the sunset on the Colosseum and I will be thinking ‘I wish Erik was here’ and it would ruin my mood. Does it make sense?”

Nicky’s smile is bitter. “You still hope he comes back, don’t you?”

“A part of me does. Everything happened so suddenly. We spent four years together, four years! We did everything together, we shared so much of our lives. And then suddenly he breaks up with me, six hours before the party I had been organizing for weeks and it doesn’t make any sense to me. My brain is still looking for an explanation.”

Nicky nods. _He’s still in love with him. Even if something happens between us tonight, I won’t be anything more than a rebound for him. What was I thinking? That such an interesting and sophisticated man could be interested in a sad and lonely delivery guy?_

After dinner, he helps Joe storing the food. There is something inexplicably domestic in the act of helping a perfect stranger – well, after that night maybe not so stranger anymore – labeling the portions of lasagna and washing dishes together. His heart aches a little.

He never had that kind of relationship. All of his love stories had been too short and too shallow to reach that level of intimacy.

For a moment he has a vision: he and Joe in that kitchen, a few months from now, cooking together and chatting about their day. But then he shakes his head.

_Sure, Nicky, nothing screams more ‘country boy’ than falling in love with the first handsome gay man you meet in the city._

He finishes labeling the last portion of parmigiana and then he thinks: _I should go home. I bet his boyfriend will come home tonight. He will because who would leave this beautiful man? He will come back, and Joe will forgive him, and they will go back to their wonderful life together. And you will be quickly forgotten because that’s what you are, and easily forgettable guy._

And he is about to take his bags again and tell Joe that he is going, but then Joe turns around, smiles and says: “So, are you up for a movie?” His eyes are basically begging: _please, don’t leave me alone._

Nicky has always been weak for dark, expressive eyes.

As Anita Ekberg bathes in the Trevi Fountain, Joe can’t stop peeking at Nicky. He tries not to be too obvious, and whenever Nicky turns to look at him, he pretends to read the subtitles.

At first, he thought that it was because Nicky is good looking. And, well, that might have played a big part. But it’s not only that. There’s something about him that he still cannot grasp. Maybe it’s the way he shifted from sitting awkwardly on the edge of the couch, to sinking shamelessly in the pillows while the movie proceeded. Maybe it’s how he tries to hide his yawns and struggles to stay awake, despite being clearly exhausted. Maybe it’s the way he smiles at the tv screen, warmly and sweetly, and for a moment Joe wonders how it would feel like to kiss the corner of his mouth and make him giggle.

_Joe, stop! You are fantasizing about a stranger just because he’s cute and you have just been dumped by your boyfriend._

“I kinda hate this scene,” says Nicky, pointing at the tv, as Anita Ekberg splashes Marcello Mastroianni from the fountain.

“How so?” he asks.

“You have no idea how many tourists jump into fountains in Italy. They think it’s sweet and romantic, but all I can think is the infections they are going to get from swimming in that dirty water.”

Joe snorts: “Are you literally criticizing Fellini?”

“I’m not criticizing the entire production of Fellini, only this scene” he protests. “I guess I’m not very romantic.”

Joe laughs. “Well, to be fair, maybe I am a little too much” he adds, bitterly.

Nicky turns to face him: “What do you mean?”

“You know when I said that Erik dumping me was unexpected and unmotivated? Well, I might have been lying” he admits. He bites his lips and sighs: “There were signals. I just decided to ignore them because I wanted- I don’t know, I didn’t want to deal with them.”

Nicky stares in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“The first year together was perfect and our holiday in Tunis was a honeymoon. But in the second year, the problems started. I mean, every couple argues, but the fact is that we didn’t. Whenever I was doing something that he didn’t like, instead of addressing the problem, he began acting passive-aggressively. I remember the day at the Musée d’Orsay, in Paris, when he complained that he was tired and when I offered him to leave, he just shrugged and sit in the café of the museum and I spent the entire visit thinking of our fight. And on our third holiday, in the Baltic countries, he kept complaining about the weather and that we should have gone to Spain and when I made him notice that _he_ had chosen the destination, he got angry at me. I was naïve to think that a romantic holiday in the countryside in Tuscany would have fixed our relationship. I was dreaming of wandering around Rome with a Vespa or to put my hand in the Bocca della Verità, like in _Roman Holidays_. But Erik was right: I tend to romanticize life at the point where it was impossible for him to reach my expectations. He always hated my romantic gestures, always complained about them, as if it was a sort of competition. What he never understood, despite me telling him an infinity of times, is that I didn’t expect him to reciprocate my gestures. I didn’t expect him to buy me a hundred red roses or to write poems about my eyes, I just wanted him to accept my way of showing my love for him. Just that.”

Joe sighs and shakes his head: “I’m sorry about my rambling. Well, I guess now you can understand why he dumped me” he adds, attempting a fake laugh.

“I think I understand what you are saying,” he says. “I think everyone has a different way of expressing love. In my past relationships, I have been accused of being too cold, of being careless, because I wasn’t keen on big gestures. And it’s true, I’m not particularly good with words and I am not particularly romantic either, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t appreciate those gestures, if they are genuine and come from the heart. Because in the end, I think we accept the love we are willing to give, even when it comes in different forms.”

Joe stares at him, speechless. “And you say you are not good with words.”

Nicky laughs, trying to hide his blushing. And for a moment, Joe is about to lean to him, cup his hands on his face and kiss him, but then he stops.

_Too soon. He cannot simply be a rebound. He is worth so much more._

“I think you are right. I think he never loved me, not in the way I loved him. And maybe this party was my way to try to win him back, to lighten that sparkle one more time, to save a story that was already doomed.”

“Well, maybe you had your part of the guilt, but this doesn’t mean that he wasn’t a dick. He could have told you before you started organizing the party, or some days from now.”

“Thank you,” says Joe, smiling.

“For what?”

“For saying that he was a dick. It was everything I needed tonight.”

Nicky smiles back: “Anytime.”

 _La dolce vita_ is about to end, when they hear someone knocking at the door, making them jump on the couch. They look at each other confused, and then Joe says:

“Shit, this must be Erik.”

“Do you think he’s here to apologize and get back together?”

“I doubt he wants to get back together, and even if he did, I would never take him back. But maybe he wants to apologize for how he treated me.” He sighs. “A childish part of me would like to make him feel bad for what he did.”

“Do you want me to pretend I was your one-night stand?”

Joe looks at him: “Would you do that?” But then immediately. “No. No, I’m better than that. I will go there and talk to him so that I can close this chapter of my life.” He leaves Nicky on the couch and goes to the door. He opens it and Erik is standing in front of him. He looks tired and sad and for a moment Joe’s heart aches, and he has to repeat himself: _Not again, Yusuf, not this time_.

“Hi.”

“Hi, I thought you were already asleep,” says Erik. “Sorry for the time.”

“It’s okay” he murmurs, softly. “Why are you here, Erik?”

“I forgot the computer charger and I need it,” he says, quite sharply.

Joe remains in front of the door, incredulous. “That’s it?”

“What were you expecting? That I get on my knees and beg you to take me back? Come on, Joe, we both knew that it was only a matter of time.”

“Well, funny that you talk about time. You surely chose the best moment to dump me.”

“Are you still sulking for that stupid party? I didn’t even want it, you were the one that liked to throw these huge parties. I chose Italy just because I knew you wanted to go to Florence. I don’t even like Italian food, too many carbs.”

“Well, you could have told me _before_ I worked so much for it. You could have spared me the embarrassment of having to cancel the party just a few hours in advance and the humiliation of telling our friends what happened!”

Erik rolls his eyes and sighs: “God, why do Mediterranean people have to be so overdramatic?”

At that point, Joe is fuming. Fuck off being mature, it is time to be petty. And that dickhead fucking deserves it.

“Come in, take your charger then,” he says, moving from the door. As soon as Erik enters, he immediately faces Nicky. They look at each other in silence, until Joe says: “I’m sorry, _babe_ , he wasn’t expected.”

Erik turns to Joe, completely ignoring Nicky: “Who the fuck is this one?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t make the presentations. Erik, this is Nicky. Nicky, this is my _ex_ -boyfriend.”

“Is this a kind of joke? Where did you meet him?”

“It’s a funny story. After you dumped me, I went out to drink something and forget about this horrid afternoon and then I met him. Did I tell you that he is from Italy? Ironic, don’t you think? Anyway, we started talking about Italian cuisine and then we came here since I had so much food to finish, thanks to someone. And then…well, you know how these things go…”

“I can’t believe it! You have been fucking a dude on our bed after… what? Six hours after we broke up?”

“Oh, Erik, don’t be overdramatic,” says Joe, in a mocking tone. “And anyway, who mentioned the bed? The kitchen counter was way more exciting, as well as the couch.”

He gives a quick look at Nicky, to check that he isn’t making him uncomfortable, but judging by the smug smile that he is so desperately trying to hide, he is on board.

“I’m sorry, _tesoro_ , I have to go, and you are clearly busy,” says Nicky.

“Yes, he’s busy, so fuck off” shouts Erik.

Joe tries to reply, but Nicky is faster to add: “And thank you for the best sex of my life. Call me again, if you’d like, you have my number,” he says, winking.

Joe has to bite his tongue not to laugh, especially at the sight of Erik’s furious face. He looks at Nicky as he heads to the door and waves one last time before disappearing. He can’t help but smile.

After all, maybe Italian night is indeed his lucky night.

**9 months later**

Joe tightens his grips on Nicky’s waist as he takes a sharp turn into a narrow lane paved with cobblestones. He stops the Vespa and jumps off, then he helps Joe removing the helmet, and takes the opportunity to steal a kiss.

“So, is it too late for a gelato?” he asks.

“It’s always time for a gelato” answers Joe, taking his hand and walking with him to the gelateria near their small apartment in Trastevere. They sit at a small table, watching the Tiber flowing calm and shining under the summer sun. Joe sighs, while eating his bowl of pistachio, and says: “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“Habibi, we spent one week in Florence and ten days in Rome. Didn’t you have enough?”

“Not even close,” he says. “Why don’t we move here? I could teach art and you could open another shop here.”

“I’m afraid I would have way more competitors and that clients would be pickier than the Dutch ones,” he says, laughing. Then he stares at the river and says: “But I agree, it would be lovely.”

Joe takes a moment to imagine how it would be to live there with Nicky. To wander around in their Vespa, to pass in front of the Colosseum every day, to eat delicious gelato the whole summer, sitting in the small tables of a gelateria in front of the Tiber. Those days with Nicky have been a dream. They visited all the art museums, spending there hours and hours. They wandered astonished for the galleries of the Vatican museums, comparing the busts of the Roman emperors with Nicky’s nose and admiring the numerous statues of Antinous. They were mesmerized by Bernini’s _Rape of Proserpina_ as well as Caravaggio’s _David_ in Galleria Borghese. Nicky brought him to the best restaurants in Rome, making him taste the best fresh pasta of his life. He fell in love with the coda alla vaccinara and with the carciofi alla giudia, and Nicky promised to learn how to cook those. They walked the eternal streets of Rome, enjoying the sunset over the roman ruins.

There was something about that city that made Joe feel endless, as if time could never touch what he and Nicky had. He knows that their relationship is still at the beginning and that sooner or later the honeymoon phase is going to end. But he is ready to make their relationship works, for better and for worse.

Joe looks at the man in front of him and brings his hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles and Nicky asks: “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about our first encounter.”

“A very fond memory.”

“Nine months ago, I was living a loveless relationship with a man that dumped me in the worst way possible and I spent a miserable night crying about it. Until a beautiful man appeared at my door, bringing delicious food.”

Nicky laughs loudly: “Admit it, you fell in love with my parmigiana first.”

“I’m not confirming nor denying it,” he says, gaining a mocking slap on the shoulder by his boyfriend. “And you know what that man told me that night?”

“Please, do tell me.”

“He told me that we show love in different forms and ways. And that we accept the love we are willing to give. And this same man has been able to deal with my romantic gestures and my dramatic love declarations for months and never once he has rejected them. He has accepted my love every day and reciprocated in his own way.”

“You incurable romantic” murmurs Nicky, laughing. “Never change.”

During the first months of their relationship, they often wondered what brought them together.

Nicky always gave the same answer: “We were meant to find each other. It’s like destiny”, but Joe thinks that there’s something more. Because when he burst out crying, that night, Nicky has stopped to comfort him, when he could have simply walked away. And when he asked him to stay, he accepted his invitation.

And maybe destiny brought Nicky at his door, but he let him in, he asked him to stay. They have been choosing each other since then and they will keep choosing each other every day.

They stay in silence until Nicky says: “So, do you want to go directly to dinner or…” He tilts his head in the direction of their apartment with a smirk. Joe shivers in anticipation at the idea of their big bed, of the smell of clean sheets, of their bodies tangled together and the warm sun on their skin, as the heat of the summer day slowly leaves in favor of an evening breeze.

“Soon, my love. Just…can we stay? Only for another minute.”

Nicky nods and they both stare at the eternal city, unraveling in front of them like an almighty deity and showing its true beauty. And while the Tiber flows in front of them in its endless journey, they stay, their fingers tangled together, their skin soothed by a gentle breeze, their eyes blinded by the bliss of their young love.

**Author's Note:**

> Klootzak - (dutch) dickhead/asshole  
> Goede Tijden, Slechte Tijden - It's a dutch soap opera. Nicky watches it to try to learn the language.  
> (Thanks to Magpie for the dutch references)  
> Supplì, coda alla vaccinara, and carciofi alla giudia are all typical dishes of Italian (and specifically roman) cuisine. If you happen to be in Rome, try them. Seriously.
> 
> \---
> 
> If you are wondering, Joe and Nicky didn't get together immediately after their first meeting. It took them one month of pining. Then Michela (Nicky's sister) and Jasmin (Joe's sister) met and they decided that they had enough of their idiots brothers and closed them in a room until they admitted their feelings for each other.  
> Also, Michela is now dating a beautiful Greek guy she met at the market and they are very happy together. The bakery is going well and they hired a girl to help them, so that they both have more time to spend with their boyfriends. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this one shot and let me know what you think about it!
> 
> I'm immortal-family on Tumblr


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